


Rum, Sodomy, and the Brand

by Barb G (troutkitty)



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-30
Updated: 2003-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 14:02:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troutkitty/pseuds/Barb%20G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-movie fic, following the title pretty closely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rum, Sodomy, and the Brand

_"He’s a pirate."_

The only problem was, he wasn’t, not really. He was a blacksmith, and therein lay the problem. In the beginning they moved around the issue as through it were a heavy piece of furniture in the main hall, but by the second year of marriage it had grown so that there was barely enough room for the two of them on either side of the room.

Elizabeth would stare at the sea for days, taking her meals on the widow’s walk. Will had joined her in the beginning, but the conversation was stilted over the smell of the salt and sea. She never smiled at him the way she smiled at a storm brewing just outside the harbour.

He, again, threw himself into his work, producing pieces of such breathless beauty that if he folded the delicate metal every day until the day he died he wouldn’t keep up with the demand. He grew more and more selective over his orders, and became more and more demanding with his own staff. And still the tension grew. He felt the air turn cold and the electricity build between them, and despite the blue sky, their not-so-loving home began to smell of ozone.

The storm didn’t hit until Will put his hand on Elizabeth’s door handle and the brass bar wouldn’t move but a quarter of an inch. Will tried again, not quite wanting to realize the door was locked, but it stayed horizontal despite his best attempts.

Elizabeth must have heard him trying to enter, and he supposed that if he had wanted to, he could have just kicked the door open.

He wasn’t about to force himself in places he wasn’t wanted.

He wasn’t a pirate.

#

The stories came to him slowly. Elizabeth had been sneaking out of the house at the dead-of-night, dressed as a wharf rat, and visiting the low taverns by the harbour. Only her guise had fooled no one, and only the respect the regulars had for Will’s work kept her from being pulled into the tide. He heard the news, as cuckolds often do, by the silence that followed his entry into any common place, and one night, when he was deep into his cups, he forced the story out of the barkeep though a close encounter of his very fine work and the sweating man’s throat. The sordid tale came out between the wails, and Will found himself feeling even more cold inside. He let the man live, despite the initial, sudden, and (fortunately) nearly uncontrollable urge to run him through. It wasn’t the man’s fault he couldn’t control his own wife.

He returned home, still able to pick their slightly more than modest house out from the others, which was an improvement over the last few times he’d been out. Elizabeth was in her room, and one of her chambermaids assured him of it as he swept up the stairs. He looked to her, briefly, and she fell back. The room wasn’t locked, and Elizabeth looked up from binding her breasts and clutched a man’s shirt to her chest. Molly bustled to him like a harried chicken, but Will ignored her and grabbed Elizabeth’s wrist. Elizabeth protested, pulling away, but he forced her through the hall and down the stairs. He threw open the two doors and the scent of the night-blooming flowers reached them. The tide, pulled by the moon, had exposed the wet rocks of the bay and the buzzing of flies around them felt more real to him than Elizabeth beating on his chest.

"They work thusly," he explained, turning the door-handles again, slowly for her benefit. "If you cannot seem to work them this late at night, call for Bentley, and he will assist you," Will said. "I will I dine alone and sleep alone, but if you insist we can wench together."

She stopped fighting, and he left her there, standing in the entrance, bare shouldered. It was the last time they spoke for a month.

#

His old quarters above Brown’s shop had become dusty from the lack of use, but when he untied the rope and pushed the door open, it felt more welcome than his house had been. Rats had invaded the bedding, tearing at it, and he bundled the whole thing up and threw it out the window. He gave his orders to Robert, his shop steward, and within a day the room was cleaned and refurnished. Robert didn’t question him; Robert knew better than to question him, and Will provided him with nothing.

Still, he denied Elizabeth nothing, keeping the house and the servants for her, but he sent the coins to her through trusted messengers rather than visiting her himself. The arrangement suited most of the people involved.

He supposed he had been expecting the visit. He pulled off his shirt, sweaty and blackened from the forge, and dumped a ladle of water over his head. Dear Rosa, who kept his room cleaned during the day and his bed warmed at night and asked for nothing in return, was probably fortunate to be out for the duration.

"I never wanted you in my family," Governor Swann said, standing in the sparse room as through what little furniture Will had would outflank him from behind and attack.

"You have always made your intentions abundantly clear, sir," Will said. He poured a second ladle over his shoulders and wiped the water off with the shirt before selecting a clean one from the cupboard.

"And yet, when Elizabeth chose you, I welcomed you whole-heartedly."

"And I have always thanked you."

Swann moved to the wall, where his finest work was mounted. He pulled down the duelling blade, testing it for balance, and Will remained by the water basin, dripping and--as the prickling sensation on the back of his neck reminded him--unarmed.

"You have humiliated her and me," Swann said, still examining the sword. His voice was mild, his face blandly inquisitive, yet the wig on his head shook minutely. When he turned back to Will, thirty inches of delicate metal hung between them at throat level. "And that I can’t forgive."

Will had faced down undying pirates under cursed moonlight. Even unarmed, he didn’t really fear a goutish old man whose hand shook, but it was father’s love Swann was defending. Will put his hands up. "None of this is my choice," he said.

"Do you love my daughter?"

"With all my heart and forever," Will said, and not just because of the sword.

"Then why are you humiliating her like this!"

"She doesn’t love me," Will said.

The sword dropped down, missing Will’s foot by a hair’s breath, but he didn’t move. "There are a hundred ways a young man may have an accident on my island, William Turner. A hundred more so not so accidentally. Cuba is in continual need of trained artisans, you might try your luck somewhere more inviting."

"This is my home," Will said. He had bought Brown out completely of the forge and hadn’t taken a single coin from the man to pay for their house.

Governor Swann looked to him, eyes wavering wetly. "I can assure you that is no longer the case, sir." A heavy clank and a bag of gold rested between them. Will didn’t even have to pick it up to know the settlement would be more than what the forge and the house were worth.

"Good-bye, Mr. Turner. I cannot say it’s been a pleasure," Swann said. He stepped over the blade and the gold and closed the door gently behind him.

Will stared down at both and sighed.

#

He had wrapped the sword in canvas, but left the bag of gold with a note for Elizabeth. He pulled back his hair into a tight knot and locked the forge up. Robert would unlock it in the morning, and after the third day or so, realize he was gone.

The taverns Elizabeth loved so much had been tamed since the Commodore Norrington had taken the fleet, but he hadn’t dampened the festivities completely. The Flying Kettle was the busiest of them all, and Will let himself in. The night had been a warm one and interior of the tavern was sweltering. The lanterns burned with an oily residue and those sailors still with coins, or at least those still drinking, looked him over with interest as he entered.

Nothing looked more like a wrapped sword than a wrapped sword, and their interest didn’t remain on him long. All save one. A black woman pulled herself away from two tired looking girls and stepped over the body on the floor to him. "Will! Aye, but it is good to be seeing you. Married life settled you any?" she asked.

She spoke clearly but her eyes weren’t focussed completely on him. She frowned, stepping back, and took in the bag over his shoulder and the travelling clothes he had on. "Going on a short jaunt, then?" she asked.

He continued to say nothing.

"Ah," Anamaria said. "It’s a sovereign a month for loyal service, Will, but you want to be rethinking this."

"I’m only booking passage."

She stared at him, incredulously, but he was serious. "Passage."

"Passage. To Cuba. Or Jamaica. Or whatever your first port-of-call is."

He held out his hand. She hesitated, only for a heartbeat, as Will pulled out a coin. "Welcome aboard, Will Turner," she said, face falling. "We sail at dawn."

#

And at dawn, she was at the prow of her ship, sober and serious. Will was given permission to board and he stood with her as her men brought the last of the cargo aboard. Her ship wasn’t large, no bigger than the _Interceptor_ had been, but a tad slower. "Bringing cotton to the new world," Anamaria said. "Cotton, like a common mule." She shook her head. "But it’s _honest_ work." She said the word like something foul.

Will waited, but Anamaria wasn’t going to breech the subject. He took a deep breath. "And Jack?" he asked.

Anamaria laughed, although with little real humour. "Jack is Jack and will always be until he can’t wriggle out of his last noose," she said. "Norrington has his sights on him. Too dangerous for my blood, I’m afraid. One too many narrow escapes for me and my blood’s not for it anymore." Still, she looked back to her cargo and shook her head. "Cotton," she said again.

Will nodded, but felt her disappointment. A heartbeat later, he realized it was mixed with his own. "Cotton," he repeated.

She looked to him, dark eyes looking bruised in the harsh daylight. She slapped him on the shoulder. "Aye, cotton."

#

Cotton or not, the waves didn’t know the difference. His back started to ache from muscles even pounding metal hadn’t touched. His skin darkened, his hair lightened, and eventually he stopped noticing the sway of the ocean beneath him. He didn’t think of Elizabeth, or at least forced himself not to. Elizabeth hadn’t seen the bodies hanging in warning to other pirates, or at least hadn’t attached in her head the real-life threat with the romantic ideals.

Despite the cotton haul, Anamaria forced her men to work as though the devil were at their backs. She accepted nothing less than perfection from the men and they gave her nothing less. Will dined with her every night.

They ate mostly in silence, and he was grateful for that. Anamaria didn’t talk about the _Pearl_ and Will didn’t speak of Elizabeth and the evening went smoothly. But he could tell she missed it as she no doubt saw his own loss, but they ignored it.

On the eve of the second week, disaster struck in the form of a crippled ship. The mast had broken and it lay floundering in the water. Anamaria stood, transfixed on the ship and her eyes began to sparkle. Will followed her sight and took in the broken ship, and his heart went cold.

"Anamaria--" he began, but she wasn’t listening to him. The orders came from her effortlessly, and within heartbeats the ship began to cut through the water directly for the ship. Within moments, a black-flag unfurled itself on their mast and began to snap in the wind. "You said this was a merchant ship!"

"And you believed me?" Anamaria asked, and then shouted out more orders to prime the guns.

Jack had never lied to him. Withheld information, let people come to the wrong conclusion and embellished fact for the sake of fiction, but never lied. The crew on the other ship began shouting and running about like scurrying ants. "I think you’ll be needing your sword, Will," Anamaria said, again, not looking at him.

It was only a merchant ship, and not even an overly guarded one. Men were tossing items over the edges and redoubling their efforts to lash the temporary mast to the stump of the original.

"Your sword, Will," Anamaria turned to him, and when she smiled she looked more like a jungle cat than anything human. "Don’t make me decide you’re against me."

"Ready the canons!" Anamaria shouted, ignoring him. "Equal shares, boys!"

A cheer went up. They moved into firing range, full on broadside with the merchant ship. Ropes flew from one ship to the other, tethering it securely, but before the first man swung over the gap, panels slid from the merchant ship, revealing a row of canons. The sailors who had been running meaningless stopped and pulled cocked pistols from their pants, and worst of all, the red and white striped flag of the East Indian Trading Company unfurled.

"Hard starboard!" Anamaria shouted, but the first volley of cannon fire caught them unaware. Boards shattered, and Will had to grab onto the railing to keep from toppling over. "Return fire! Return fire!" Anamaria screamed, but only one of the canons shot below them. They had tethered themselves to a sleeping tiger and it was waking up. The men fought as the first of the soldiers swung over, but the battle itself was over soon after it started. Will found himself surrounded, and he put up his hands, not even having a sword to drop.

"What’s with you, boy?" the man asked.

Will shook his head. "I just booked passage," he said. Anamaria glared at him, but he didn’t meet her eyes. She surrendered, but the soldiers took her second, a tall, mulatto man as the captain and pushed her in with the common sailors.

The three soldiers surrounding Will pushed him forward as the Captain came onto the ship. "What’s this?" he asked.

"The boy says he was booking passage."

The captain looked him over, once, and shook his head. "A likely story. Take him down with the rest."

"Aye, Captain."

#

The passage to St. Kitts in the belly of a ship was not something Will ever wanted to do again, but from the way things were, it looked like he would be getting his wish.

Anamaria spat like a hell-cat for the first part of the journey, but settled down after one of the soldiers watching them threatened to give her a different kind of special treatment than the others. She now huddled in the back of the cell, holding onto her branded wrist as though it were a child.

"We’ll be swinging by dawn," she said, tonelessly, over and over again.

They all heard the soldiers drop anchor, and the ship gradually came to a halt. The hold was in constant sweltering darkness, which made the bright sunlight and the sea-breeze off the water more bright and cold. Everything looked blinding white to Will’s eyes and he covered them as much as he could with his manacled hands. From there it was being herded onto a boat and forced to row. Coming in to the harbour, the smell of rotting fish and filth made him almost ill, and sinister fins circled just beyond.

Anamaria grabbed his wrist, pulling up his sleeve, but the inside of his arm was clear. She rubbed it, once, and then spat. "It used to be that they branded you and let you go as a warning for others," she said, holding her own scar.

"And now?" Will asked, not really wanting the answer.

She pulled back her teeth, but all semblances to a cat had ended. Now she looked like a grinning skull. "Now they brand you and don’t," she said.

They passed the grisly warning, none but two of the bodies were complete. Most had lost both its arms and its legs, and one was just a torso, hanging from the neck. The scattering of bones beneath the gallows, to Will, was much, much worse.

The soldiers herded them again onto the pier, and common sailors and hawkers gathered around as they huddled together in their chains.

Anamaria jerked forward as one of the bystanders ran a hand down her flank, but she spun around with her hands in the air and began hissing in a language Will didn’t understand. "Voodoo," a sailor whispered beside him. "She has no idea what she’s saying, but it scares away the uninformed."

Will felt his own flank being stroked and he spun around, pushing the hand away. "This one still has spirit," a man said. His grey hair was his own, no wig, but he carried himself a bit higher than the rest of the rift-raff. "Strong, too, by the look of it. Have him show me his teeth."

He spoke to Will’s handler as if Will himself didn’t speak, but the soldier watching him just laughed. "What would it matter to you if he has strong teeth? That’s the last thing you’re looking for."

Men laughed around him, and Will felt his cheeks warm up. He drew back his head, spitting in the man’s face, and was backhanded for his trouble. "You’d mind me if the alternative is the gallows," he said.

Will’s skin crawled at the thought. "Start holding your breath," he advised.

He was pushed forward, and when he looked back, the man was still watching him. "Looks like you have an admirer," Anamaria said.

Will spat again, and a third time, just to get the taste out of his mouth.

The trial consisted of offences being listed off, no one had asked their names. Will spat again when he saw his admirer in the crowd. He was pulled from the group, and only then did Will start to fight. He elbowed the man holding his arm, and flipped over the man’s doubled up back. He landed on his feet, running, but the chain yanked him a full 180 degrees. He pulled, scraping at the skin on his wrists as the shackles pulled, but his admirer stood on the chain and tapped his fingers against his arm. Soldiers came for him slowly, poking at him with their swords, and when he tried to trip them up with the chain, they tackled him and brought him to the ground. He was carried, kicking but not screaming, to the anvil where a brazier lay in waiting.

A man, wearing black leather despite the heat, stirred the coals. Two men stepped on his arm, one over his hand the other just below the elbow, and twisting away at that point would only shatter his bones.

"Hold still. It will hurt less."

The P of the brand was white hot as it came from the fire. Will twisted onto his back, pulling as far away as he could. Even as he bit down on his lip to keep from howling as the brand pressed against his wrist, the sound of agony welled up inside him and escaped through his clenched teeth. The metal felt ice cold to his skin in the first heartbeat and then there was nothing put pure, searing, burning, aching pain. It filled his joints and the balls of his feet and he howled until the brand was lifted. Taking a deep breath seemed impossible to him, forget pulling himself to his feet. Eventually they came for him and pulled/dragged him into one of the cells along with the rest of the pirates.

Something blue and yellow caught his eye, and then he was back into unending darkness.

#

"Let the air have at it," Anamaria hissed to him through the bars. Her men had been divided into three cells, and through the dim light that trickled through the ventilation shaft he saw that his was the only one alone in a cell. His arm throbbed with every breath, with every heartbeat and with every motion.

"Or what? It gets the blood sickness and kills me?" Will asked, enjoying the irony if nothing else in his miserable existence.

"Or it will hurt more," Anamaria finished.

Will let his hand drop from the brand, but didn’t notice a marked change in the throb, the burn, or the ache. He felt justified in pointing that out, when words seemed to float down the stairs.

"--And if I see any, I’ll be sure to inform you--" Cracking next, then two soft thuds. Two soldiers tumbled into the cellblock, dark grey outlines in the thin light, and then someone jumped over them. "A lot smarter than the lads at Port Royal, I’ll grant you that. Of course, they’re still breathing, so who’re the smart ones now?"

"Jack!" Anamaria said, as Jake came up to the cell. Will pulled himself up to his feet, but had to hold the wall as his head seemed to want to tumble down to his feet.

"Now, love, if you are going off into the big bad world alonesies, you have to be smarter than that. The Commodore is significantly brighter than his predecessor, and although that’s not saying much at all, it does mean that we must be a little quicker on our toes."

"It was a trap," Anamaria said. The door unlocked, and the screeched open, and then the second door opened. A rope scuttled down from the ventilation shaft, and the first of the pirates scurried up it like a rat. Will had made it to the bars by the time Jack got to his, but Jack just stood there.

"Well, well, well," Jack said, dropping his voice down to a drawl. His eyes shone, picking up what little light there was. "We’re meeting all sorts of old friends today."

Will didn’t say anything. Jack’s eyes darted down to his wrist, and he made a sound in the back of his throat that was animalistic. "Did the dear boy get himself stung?"

"Open the door, Jack," Will said. The words sounded thicker to his ears than he intended.

"Or what, leave you in here to hang?" the old Jack was back, smiling.

"Yes, that exactly."

"Come along then," Jack put the key in the lock, but it wouldn’t turn. His grin faded for a heartbeat, but then he put the second key. It didn’t turn as well. Neither did the third, the fourth, the fifth, or Jack pulling on the door with all his might. Will picked up the key ring from the floor, put the first key in the door, and twisted it to the left. The door swung open. Jack stared at him for second, shook his head, and stepped out of its way.

"Let’s go," Will said.

"Now is indeed a good time," Jack said. Jack shimmied up the rope easily. Voices came from the stairs as Will grabbed onto it, but his hand that had the brand wouldn’t grip the rope. He tried pulling himself up with one hand, but he slid down more ground than he gained. Jack looked down.

"Go on," Will said.

Jack bit his lip. It looked as if for a heartbeat as if he were going to argue, but he climbed the rest of the way up. Guards were already at the base of the stairs when he poked his head back through the vent. "We will come back," he promised, as the alarm was sounded. Will hoped that would have gone without saying, but with Jack, he supposed it was best that the intentions were clear. Will waved him away.

He was pushed from behind, and his wrist struck the bars of the cell. The pain crippled him and he hugged his arm to his belly. "Like rats from the sewer," one of the guards said, peering up the shaft.

Will managed to stay on his feet, and he made a sound that came out as a hiss as the second guard grabbed his wrist and squeezed. "Except for you, of course."

The first man grabbed his other wrist. "No, they all escaped."

"What are you--" a very long pause. "Of course they did." The second squeezed his brand again, and Will fell to his knees.

They brought him out in the cover of secrecy and a heavy layer of bribes. Morning came and went, gladly without Will swinging on the end of a short rope, but the way it was going to end didn’t sit well with him, either.

They gave him water to wash away the sticky fluid on the burn, which by mid-afternoon had grown puckered and pink, but it hurt when he bumped it, moved it, or thought about it. The soldiers brought him to another ill sort of tavern, and there they waited for most of the day. Into the third hour, they offered him a meal and he tore at the dark bread offered without any concern of poison. When he finished, his arm didn’t hurt as much as it could have.

"I am not a pirate," Will said.

"That’s funny, seeing as how you were found on a pirate ship," the first man said.

"She told me she was a merchant vessel."

"And you believed her?" the man asked, eyebrow raised. Will stood up, to the heavy rattle of chains. He looked up to the rafters, but they were too far away without being chained to the spot like an animal.

Will shrugged. He had believed her. So, in a Jack-sort-of-way, this was entirely his fault. He sighed and rubbed his face against his arm.

The door opened again, and the man from the pier stepped in. He looked around like a cat distressed at his sudden twist of fate, but entered the room without making too much of a show that it alarmed him. "We could have met elsewhere," he said, staring at the two soldiers.

"Not carrying the boy in chains, we couldn’t. Civilized folk ask civilized questions. You going to pay us or what?"

"Five sovereigns. And another five to buy your silence."

Will cupped his chin in his one good hand. "Ten sovereigns," he demanded, feeling somewhat insulted. "You couldn’t buy a three legged mule for that. You spent that much on bribes!"

The soldiers furrowed their eyebrows. "He’s right, you know."

"Fine then, twenty."

"The market system at its finest. Is this a closed auction or may anyone buy?"

All four of them looked over. It was Jack, only it wasn’t. This Jack had on gentlemen clothing, complete with the plume on his hat, and with the kohl under his eyes were gone, the lack of tan made him look more like a raccoon than anything. None-the-less, it was Jack, reeking of rum, and pulling a kerchief from his sleeve to dab at his forehead and neck. He tucked it back in, covering both the tattoo and his own brand.

"Now see here," the first gentleman said, turning to Jack, but Jack sidestepped away from him and went to Will.

"Open up, there’s a lovely. Still got your teeth, I see, lovely, lovely. Any other damage I should know about? Still a eunuch?" The gentleman pulled back at that information. "This is certainly new," Jack said, pulling at his arm, which moved it, bumped it and made Will think about it. He winced away the pain.

"You’re saying you know this boy?" one of the soldiers demanded.

"He’s my personal assistant. More personal than assistant, if you know what I mean, but he helps me none-the-same. Got his foolish hide mixed up with the wrong sort of type in Port Royal and, well, I’ve been racing to catch up ever since that bit of unpleasantness. But still, you saved his life and for that I am grateful. How much do I owe you?"

"We settled on thirty coins."

"Thirty! Well, I suppose, never skimp on a good deed, as my dear old papa used to say, but then he also said something about peacocks and plantains, so you can’t take everything on face value. Twenty coins, was it?"

"Thirty."

"Thirty you say. Thirty and the key, I suppose, and we keep the shackles." he dropped the coins into soldier’s hand. "Come along, boy."

"One moment of your time, sir," the gentleman said.

Jack looked at the man as though he couldn’t quite fathom how a table could be talking to him. He squinted, and then smiled as if he figured it out. He patted the man on his shoulder for the very good work.

"Is he for sale?"

"Sale?" Jack asked, leaning even closer.

"Or perhaps just to rent."

Will didn’t want to use Jack’s name, but he, as surreptitiously as he could, kicked Jack on the left hamstring. Luckily, the sudden lurch forward was not out of character. Jack grabbed onto the gentleman to keep from falling, and he covered the surprise well. He looped his arms around the man and walked him outside.

"I have an even better idea," he said, lowering his hands down. The soldiers left them there, still head-to-head on the street, and they didn’t see the carefully placed knife downward between the Y of the gentleman's legs. The gentleman’s face twisted in displeasure, but it also could have been Jack’s breath an inch from his face.

"Why don’t you just give me all your money," Jack said, stressing the pronouns as if there might be a concern understanding the roles involved. "And I won’t gut you like a well-dressed pig. Or a poorly-dressed pig for that matter. Suffice to say, I won’t gut you like any sort of pig at all, savvy?"

The gentleman couldn’t nod fast enough. His purse dropped into Jack’s waiting hand, and Jack tapped the man on the cheek. "That was well done, good sir. Now, of course, all we require you to do is apologize to my good friend and we’ll call this transaction complete." Jack winked at Will, and stepped back, but kept the blade well against the gentleman’s upper thigh. "He’s not a eunuch, you know. I mean, I don’t know personally that he isn’t, but it did come with good authority."

The gentleman stood, gaping like a fish out of water. "Come, come, good man. The apology." Jack tapped the knife for added, unnecessary, emphasis. Jack’s smile was emphasis enough.

"Terribly sorry," the gentleman said. He bowed his head slightly, and Will accepted it in the nature it was offered.

"So, then, we should be on our way," Jack brought the knife up, severing buttons on the gentleman’s shirt as he did so. "Needless to say, we’ll be wanting a nice, quiet little exit. If you do anything--" Jack leaned forward again, so they were nose to nose. "And I mean anything, lovie, with a wide definition of that word, to hinder us in any way, manner, shape or form, and..." Jack didn’t finish thought. The gentleman shook his head. "So, just walk on home now, my good man. We could be following you, we could not be. We could have our mates following you, or they couldn’t be," Jack motioned both of them, "Pirates, you know, we’re like that. Just can’t trust us. So go home, lock your door, and forget you ever besmirched my friend."

The man nodded, almost eagerly. Will waited, wrist aching, but no one moved. "Now, man, now! Now would be a good time!" Jack snapped, gesturing wildly. "Shoo!"

The gentleman turned and headed down the road. Jack waited, for a dozen heartbeats, and then opened the purse and slowly counted out thirty coins. "Well, that’s long enough. Here," he said, tossing the rest of the purse at Will.

"Shouldn’t we--" Will began. Jack raised his eyebrow, and then startled.

"Yes, yes, of course."

The _Black Pearl_ had, wisely, moored beyond the harbour. Jack and Cotton rowed, leaving Will to do nothing. His wrist ached dully and he hadn’t realized how much he stunk while in the jail or the hull of the ship.

"What were you doing with Anamaria, anyways?" Jack asked. "If you and Elizabeth had wanted to join up, I would have--"

Jack must have seen the look on Will’s face, as the conversation ended itself. "She said she was a merchant ship," Will said, keeping her voice level.

"And you believed her?"

"Yes!" Will snapped. "Yes, I believed her. Yes, I am a trusting sod who takes people on their word, which has been established long before you showed up again. Thank you for that, by the way."

"Don’t mention it. Elizabeth?"

"Don’t mention it."

"Well, we have established the parameters of our conversation. Excellent weather we’ve been having, eh?"

Will glowered where he sat.

#

That night, Jack put down a carafe of a deep amber liquid in front of him. They sat in Jack’s quarters--the _Pearl_ didn’t exactly have guest quarters and the last thing Will wanted was to see another hold in a ship.

"Just booking passage, eh?" Jack asked.

"Yes. It was... strongly encouraged to me that I find better shops elsewhere."

"Only two men on that island with the power to do such a thing, and I don’t think you would have gone quietly if it were Commodore Blowhard."

"No. I wouldn’t have."

"So, we’re going to drink up, you’re probably going to tell me about Elizabeth, and then we’ll tend to the brand once you’re properly numb from the neck down."

Will looked down. In the lamp-light, the brand had taken an unhealthy shine to it. Some of the blisters had broken where the shackles had rubbed, and the broken skin oozed an unhealthy fluid.

The candles on the table had burned half-way down when Jack slammed his cup against the table. Rum spilled out of it, and the lights flickered from it with hypnotic results. "See, I’ve always tried to avoid girls named after birds. Really, it should be bad luck. Ugly, mean, nasty things those swans are," Jack said.

"Have you known any other girls named after birds?" Will asked, with great interest.

Jack screwed up his face. "Can’t say that I have, really."

"Oh," Will said.

"Of course, her father’s also named after the bird as well, and him I would definitely avoid. Why did he run you off?"

It occurred to Will, suddenly, that Jack was not as drunk as Jack appeared, but he didn’t care. "Not her father’s fault, really. Elizabeth... didn’t truly love me."

"Yes, yes, I know. But she will. Then you won’t. Then you will again but she probably won’t and even that probably won’t last long. The trick is living long enough without killing each other in the process. You’re still young, you’ll get over it."

"That’s not it."

"So you _are_ a eunuch!"

"No!"

"Then what is the problem?"

"She doesn’t love me. She loves a pirate."

"And now look, you’re a pirate, convenient that."

"No! This is not who I am. This is not what I am!" He held out his brand, aching with the stress of the clenched fist, and Jack grabbed his hand. Before Will could stop him, Jack dumped the rest of his rum over the weeping wound.

Will stared at him for half-a-heartbeat, not even sure what had just happened, and then the stinging pain of the alcohol made him drop to his knees. His fists knotted up and his toes curled and it hurt almost as much as being branded the first time around. He swore he felt his skin hissing at the touch. He ran out of breath to exhale and continued to push, as his lungs refused to open.

But Jack had him, holding him and rubbing his back. "There, there, lad. Soon you’ll be finding your breath right where you left it. The sting’s helping. Personally, I don’t believe it, but that’s what someone told me once, and I survived. You’ll survive it, too."

Breath came back to him, sweet, cold, filling air and Will bit down on the ball of his thumb to keep from screaming. It came out a choked sigh, followed by a gasp. Jack took Will’s hand back, and gently wrapped it in cloth that was actually white. It was the cleanest thing he had seen around Jack, and Will stared at it, rather than the funny coloured liquid it was already pulling from the wound.

"Polite society is closed to you now, William Turner. Know that now and never forget it. Might keep your head attached to your shoulders they way you like it. This mark means that any magistrate can hang you where you stand for any reason. This won’t go away, and you can’t pretend it will. You are a one of us now."

Will said nothing. "So take it as a man, and get sodding more drunk with me, or get out. I have no time to watch someone else brood. The whole process bores me to tears."

He still didn’t have the muscle co-ordination or the extra breath required to form words, but recognised that this was one of the rare moments that Jack was being deadly serious. For a heartbeat, they just stood there, and then Will motioned for his drink to be returned to him. Jack broke out in a wide grin, slapping Will on the back. "There’s a boy."

Will drank until the back of his throat burned down to his gullet and he had to stop or drown. The alcohol worked quickly in his already flushed body, and the pain dulled as the rum filled his head.

For the longest time they sat there and drank, until Will’s bladder threatened to explode. When he stood the room took three sudden spins to the right and then rocked back to its axis slowly. He grabbed onto the wall, but missed and used the floor instead. "Maybe I should have watered the last batch down," Will heard behind him, but it could have been Jack or it could have been the Maker. At that moment, Will didn’t care. Jack helped him to the railing, helped him lower his trousers (thereby refuting the eunuch argument once and for all) and Will did the rest.

That was Will’s sum total memory of the evening.

He woke as a cannon ball split open his skull and his brains spilled over the bedding, but as Will groped around, trying to piece together the fragile bone fragments, the only thing he found on the pillow were beaded braids.

He touched the back of his own hair, still in its greasy tie at the back of his neck, and followed the braids back to wherever they came from. Another head lay beside him. It was, fortunately enough, attached to a neck and body, but it wasn’t the soft skin of Elizabeth. He sat up on his elbows as another cannon shot seemed to explode again, but the bristly skin on the head beside him hadn’t changed.

The first thing that came to him was that Elizabeth hadn’t shared his bed in over a year. The second thing was, of course, that Elizabeth wasn’t Jack, nor Jack Elizabeth, and the third thing was that he needed a slop bucket. Immediately.

Vile green bile trickled from his stomach, burning on the way up much more than the rum had on the way down. He heaved until even that failed to dislodge from his stomach, and he half expected to hear the plop of organs fall into the bile.

"All right then," Jack said from the cot. "And a very good morning to you as well."

Will thought he managed to say ‘kill me’ between the heaves, but as the blessed bullet didn’t immediately hurdle through his skull, Jack must not have heard him. He tried again.

"No, my boy, you’re just going to have to suffer this one out," Jack said, though when he stood, he seemed to walk a bit more shakier than before.

A day passed, and Will’s misery shifted from terminal to him grudgingly admitting that he was probably going to survive the crack in his skull. Jack dined with him again, this time keeping to watered down beer, which after the third one seemed to be again doing more harm than good.

Jack was staring at him. "So have you made a decision?"

Will cleared his throat. "There is no decision to be made. You have made that abundantly clear."

"Take what you want?" Jack asked, raising his glass.

"And give nothing back," Will said.

"That hardly moves me with the courage of your convictions."

"And give nothing back," Will said again. He slammed his mug into Jack’s, knocking them from both their hands, and left the cabin.

#

Life on the _Pearl_ became routine, just as Jack said it would. And, it exposed the true, back-breaking nature of being a sailor. Merchant ships travelled heavily armed with protection, and for every ship they boarded and looted, there were a dozen they let slip by for being too strong or the wind not in their favour.

Will fought at Jack’s side during such times, as it was his place. No one, not even Mr. Gibbs, tried to replace him. Yet at night he slept with the snoring crew, instead of in Jack’s quarters, as it was not.

He asked for no special privileges, and after the first week, was given none. He worked as a member of the crew and fought hard, but when they weren’t in battle, he felt Jack’s eyes watching him as he scrubbed and polished and scaled the mast. He worked from dawn to dusk, but nothing changed the fact that he was absolutely miserable.

His brand had healed to barely more than a raised silver mark, but his hands ached again to feel metal submitting to him again. The little forge they had on the ship was used only for repair work, and the blacksmith Jack had didn’t like him hanging about.

It was after dusk, though, and the men were down into their cups with their meal. Will let himself into the small room, hot from the brazier just going out, and he stoked it up again with the charred wood.

The metal was piss poor quality and the brazier hardly made it glow, yet he pounded on it until the hammer opened up his calluses gone soft from under use. The sword he produced looked no better than a first-year apprentice could do with his back still hurting from a whipping and crying at night for his momma, but it balanced perfectly on his finger. He plunged it into the cooling water bucket, and only as the steam filled the room did he realize he wasn’t alone.

"Fine work," Jack said.

Will threw it in a corner. "Child’s work. A blind dog could do better."

"Shall we find a mutt and put out its eyes to test?"

Will would have said yes, but he had a feeling Jack would actually do it. "My poor lad isn’t very happy on my ship, is he?"

Jack had been drinking. As Jack was always drinking, however, it would have been better to say Jack had been drinking more than he usually drank. Will was actually afraid to allow the vapours from the man near the brazier. Jack moved to him, not catching alight as was Jack’s luck, and Will found himself backing up despite himself.

"Come, come, lad, I’m not going to bite," Jack said. He pressed a bottle into Will’s hand, but Will had already been bitten enough to be twice shy.

"I don’t think so, Jack. You need to go to bed."

"It’s settled then!" Jack said, throwing his arms up. "Let’s go."

Will put the damper on the brazier and grabbed his shirt from the floor. It had pockmarks from the flying sparks and was smeared with soot, but that didn’t bother him. The night air, hot and sticky as it was, seemed almost cool to Will’s skin after the heat of the forge. Jack hung off his shoulder, and he pulled Will into his quarters.

"Is this the point where you seduce me?" Will asked. "Because if it is, I am really not interested, Jack."

Jack was silent for a full moment. "Well, why the bloody hell not?" he asked. "You’ve saved yourself for the wedding night, it’s smooth sailing from this point on." Jack faltered for a moment. "Or let me guess, you’ve already been inducted into the club and your welcome was decidedly under-whelming."

Will’s smile was not all that amused and it didn’t leave his mouth.

"Think of it as a violin. Only in the hands of a master or a rank beginner can it bring a man to tears."

"And what does that make me, the rank beginner?"

"No, my dear boy. You have always been the violin."

Jack didn’t kiss him, although Will had been expecting it. And Will didn’t find himself pushing away, Jack’s mouth was on his body now, not kissing still but tasting him, licking and nibbling away. Stone cold sober, Will knew that he could push away and be done with it at any time he wanted, but breathing in the fumes around Jack was making him heady.

And the results were... interesting to say the least. Jack cupped him over his trousers, not stroking, not rubbing, but the sensation of the heavy hand against him made a sound in the back of his throat that Will didn’t remember creating. And through it all, Jack didn’t finish with his tongue, amazingly soft and warm for how forked it was. He continued to lap at his skin. Jack finished his line, ending just above Will’s navel, and remained there perfectly still. The sudden rush of disappointment made Will almost fall back. Jack, however, got off his knees and went back to where his bottle lay on its side on the table. "So go or stay. Just don’t brood about it," Jack said, back to him.

"The process bores you to tears?" Will asked. It took him a moment to work his jaw as the way he seemed to remember it working resulted in nothing but nasally sounds.

Jack’s throat worked as he swallowed a good quarter of what was left. "Indeed."

Will stayed. He accepted the bottle from Jack, letting the burning liquid run down his throat. Jack had turned back, grinning again a proprietary gleam in his eyes. He dropped his trousers in the next moment, daring Jack to break eye contact first, but Jack only smiled and licked his lips.

"Well, well, well," he said. He bowed his head, acknowledging Will’s play, and then let his eyes drop down. The rum wasn’t the only thing making Will’s head spin. The need to feel something, anything, was suddenly tightening the muscles in his stomach and making his knees unnecessarily weak. He opened his mouth, to say Jack’s name, but the word stopped as Jack touched him again, barely with his fingertips.

"It has been a while," Jack said. The rough fingers scraped at his skin, and Will found himself leaning into it. Jack’s fingers rested against his hip, and he smiled again. "I might have lost my touch."

"You’ll lose your fingers if you don’t hurry it," Will said through clenched teeth.

"You are the demanding one, William. Honestly, it is quite the serious character flaw. Moments like these need to be savoured."

Jack’s pistol was just out of reach, which was probably also very calculated. Nothing about Jack wasn’t. When Jack did, eventually and on his own time, kneel down in front of him, the light touches he plied over Will’s body had starved him for honest, flesh on flesh contact.

And Jack’s mouth was even better on his cock than it was on his skin. Will leaned against the rough wall, ignoring the bites of the wood against his skin because standing alone at that moment would have been dangerous to both their health, Will’s more than Jack’s. Jack’s fingers didn’t stop, but now instead of teasing and light they were hard and insistent, prying inside him, down his thighs, behind Jack’s mouth. Any one sensation he could have ignored, but the dozen different touches and the warmth brought him over faster than he would have permitted.

Twice more through the night and again in the early morning, Jack brought him over the edge and left him dangling, and yet when Will woke up again, he was alone.

The air felt damp and cold in the morning, and Will returned to the sleeping quarters carrying his boots. He collapsed on the cot for less than an hour before general revelry sounded and he had to get up again. He expected his body to ache from the lack of sleep, but found himself feeling nothing inside. Jack was at the helm, staring at his compass, and he and Gibbs were close enough that their heads were almost touching. Gibbs looked at him, but said nothing, and Jack in no way acknowledged him.

The day passed, then the week. Will slept with the men as much as he did sleep, but the small armoury he was creating in the off hours wasn’t helping much at all. The swords disappeared as soon as he made them, but he hated them all the moment he finished.

Jack was at the table a week later, studying a nautical map. Will walked into the cabin without knocking and Jack immediately rolled it up again. Will watched with an eyebrow raised but Jack just smiled with a ‘what can you do’ shrug. "Sorry, lad, new habits," he said.

Will said nothing.

"You’ll have to do better than that. Why don’t you start with dropping down to your knees this time?" Jack asked, watching him, the expectation of the argument obvious on his face.

The expectation was obvious within Will as well, so it came as no small surprise to find himself indeed on his knees. "Well now, here’s a good boy," Jack said, dropping his voice down to a very low growl. Will didn’t expect the response to be so real or pressing, but it was pressingly real against his belly.

Jack walked around him. Will tried to follow, but Jack’s hands touched his hair. "Ah-ah, my boy. Eyes forward." Jack was so close to him, Will felt the heat from his body on his exposed neck. He bit his lip to keep from speaking, but couldn’t stop the trembles in his muscles.

The weight of hands against his shoulders, pulling his hair away from his neck and then pulling him back just a few inches. The heat, the smell, the weight of Jack pressed into the naked skin on his bare neck and Will couldn’t stop the shudder. Without even being touched Will was gone, shuddering, down into the heat and warmth and tightness as it released inside him.

"I see," Jack said. Will hung his head, more than ashamed, but if anything, Jack seemed delighted in it. Jack brought him to the bed, taking off each piece of clothing slowly. Jack wiped down his skin with a rough cloth that made his already too sensitive skin receptive to any of Jack’s touches.

He heard Jack spitting in his half sort of floating sensation he was in, and when Jack pushed his way inside the intense pain didn’t last but half a heart-beat. Will stretched out, offering himself for the sensations throughout his body. Jack’s hands were hardly idle, and he splashed the last of his rum on Will’s shoulders and licked it off him slowly.

Again, Jack took him twice, the second time the spit had already begun to dry and the burning sensation made him cry out twice. Jack covered his mouth with his hand, cutting off his breath enough so that his head swam with a new dizzying sensation. It brought him closer and kept him there longer before Jack let him go completely.

Yet again, however, when he woke up, he was alone in the bed.

#

His muscles ached again, but from a darker place inside him. He ate the slop the rest of the crew had to break his fast, but instead of reporting to the chief hand on deck for his duties, he took the ladder up to steering.

Jack stood alone, one hand idly on the knobs of the wheel, and despite the relatively calmness to the ocean, swayed back and forth. Will said nothing, waiting to be recognized, acknowledged, or at least grunted at, but no sign at all came from Jack.

Gibbs pushed passed him, opening his mouth to say something, but when Jack didn’t even acknowledge his first mate, Gibbs turned around and motioned Will out. "The _Pearl_ is talking to him," Gibbs said, putting a heavy had on Will’s shoulder. " She doesn't like the competition. Don’t feel too put out."

He had felt put in enough the night before, but Will nodded and it took until dusk for his chores to be done.

That night he considered returning to the berths below deck, but he went to Jack’s cabin instead of even the forge. Jack wasn’t in, but the cabin was unlocked and dinner had been laid out for two. He ate, drank the wine provided, and was mostly asleep before Jack returned. Jack was inside him before his pistols hit the ground, and the solid weight of the man pinning him down made Will push back, riding as much as he was ridden. Relief came, sharp, instant and fleeting, and Jack was off him and at the table in the next heartbeat. Will rolled over and slept, not waking when Jack joined him, if Jack joined him at all.

They stopped at an island the next morning to restock. Will woke to the sensation of the ship grating against the sandy bottom and then it came to a shuddering halt. Voices raised from the deck had the boats being launched from both sides, but nothing had woken him, and he was apparently not needed. He dressed, but walked amongst the men as the dead might, unable or unwilling to communicate.

It wasn’t until his name was called that he knew he had corporeal form. He turned. Gibbs waved for him to come up to steering, and he picked his way through the boats and the men and the supplies already plundered from the island up to Gibbs.

"You’re with the third boat, lad," he called.

Will nodded, gratefully.

The fresh water creek was a good mile from the shore. Will shouldered the yoke with the empty buckets so that it didn’t rub against his neck. He had already made one trip in, and the sun beat down on his shoulders after the cool of the jungle.

Gibbs but his hand over the yoke. "You are wanted back on the ship, lad," Gibbs said.

Will froze where he stood. "But--" he began, but the words stopped in his throat. Gibbs, obviously, wasn’t looking for an engaging debate on the subject.

"Aye," said Will. He gave over the yoke and took a boat back himself.

Jack waited for him impatiently in his cabin. Nothing was said, and Jack without his words was not Jack at all. Jack unbuckled his pants, adjusting their bodies to accomplish what he needed, and took.

Will was left shuddering on the floor, but managed to reach up and grab Jack’s boot as he walked past. Jack looked down at him, but walked past. "I don’t need this," Jack said, but it sounded to Will that he was trying to convincing himself.

Will remained on the ship, but spent the night on his dusty cot below. The hold was too hot, and the snoring men kept him from sleeping. Will got his boots back on and went back on deck.

He wasn’t alone. Gibbs stood on the edge of the railing with his flask at hand. He offered it to Will, and he took it gratefully.

"Not the first time, lad," Gibbs said, taking the flask back. "Jack’s Jack and that’s all he is."

Will pulled away, not wanting to discuss this at all. Gibbs wasn’t looking at him, though, and he refilled his flask from the bottle at his feet. A lantern burned in Jack’s room, and Jack had moved in front of the opaque window so that Will saw his form, nothing more. He wondered, briefly, if Jack saw him on the other side as well, but then deliberately went back down below.

He woke to the sound of bells clanking above deck. He was up and out of his cot in the next heartbeat.

He got to the deck with the battle already joined. Cannon balls whizzed past, splashing the water and the _Pearl’s_ guns splintered wood. Will fought his way past the sailors to the helm.

Jack brought the ship broadside to force the boarding.

"Come along, William."

Jack’s crew had already started their pillage, but Jack was more methodical. They fought to a bloody end and the crew surrendered. Anamaria brought him the ships manifest, and Jack looked up. "Have the Captain meet me in steering, bring any of his closest friends who are still standing," he said.

"Yes, Jack," she said.

"Will, with me."

Anamaria brought the Captain, his steward, first mate and one of the merchants up to steering. Jack welcomed them with open arms and a loaded pistol. Gibbs and Cotton followed, standing over the first mate and the steward with their sword and pistol ready.

"A shipment of gold due from the colonies should be on this ship, but the strangest thing is, my good man, we can’t seem to find it. Perhaps you could be of great assistance and tell us where it is. We’ll be on our way and you’ll be no worse for the wear."

The captain shook his head. "We dropped it off at last port."

Jack pulled on his beard. "Nope, sorry. Don’t believe you, mate. No hard feelings, I hope. Mr. Cotton?"

The steward’s neck was whole one instant and a sea of red in the next. The steward fell, holding the pieces of his throat together. The merchant beside Will screamed like a woman.

"Now, then, about this chest," Jack said. "I’m afraid I didn’t quite hear you the last time."

"I told you. I bloody well told you. There is no chest!" the captain shouted.

Jack sucked on his teeth. "You do lack the slightest amount of common sense, you do know this, yes?" Jack asked. “But, very well. Mr. Gibbs?"

The first mate fell over the steward, and the puddle of blood beneath them lapped at Will’s feet.

"Please!" the merchant begged. He was standing in the blood, but it was obvious that he didn’t even notice. "Please, I beg you, I have a wife, a child, I can’t--"

"Do please be quiet!" Jack howled. "Now, my good captain, you have one more chance. Where. Is. The. Chest?" His voice shook with anger that Will had never heard before.

The Captain looked to him with dead eyes, and Will knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that there was no gold on the ship. The merchant wailed.

"There is no chest," the Captain said.

"I was afraid you were going to say that," Jack said. "Mr. Turner?"

The merchant looked at Will, beyond words but managing a desperate gasp. Will raised his sword, brought it to his shoulders, but stopped.

"I cannot."

Gibbs shook his head, demonstrating the simple motion it would take to slit the throat of an unarmed man, but Will couldn’t. Wouldn’t. The sword fell from his fingers.

Jack clicked his tongue, and opened his mouth to speak. He obviously changed his thoughts, as he pointed his forefingers at the man. "Excuse us for a moment, ducks, we’ll be right back to conclude this," he said.

He stepped over the bodies. "Will, my lad, you seemed to have dropped your sword. Be a good little boy and pick it up again?" Jack asked, leaning into his space. The warmth and comfort of Jack overrode his own desires so much that he actually began to reach for the blade.

The hilt of the sword lay in the blood. Will stopped. The merchant opened his eyes.

Jack tapped his own pistol against the merchant’s shoulder. "You know you can’t spare his life," he said, speaking quietly as though they were the only two people in the room. "This is accomplishing nothing."

"Then you’ll have to do it yourself," Will said.

Jack nodded. "This is a disappointment, William, I must say."

"And I am truly sorry," Will said.

Jack nodded. "Yes, I know you are," he said. He pulled the trigger, the merchant fell, and Gibbs threw him another primed weapon in a the next heartbeat.

"The chest. Now," he said, voice flat.

The captain started shaking. "In my quarters, beneath the floor boards."

"Thank you. Was that so hard?" Jack demanded. The pistol cracked and the fourth body fell.

"That thing we discussed before, have it done," Jack said, looking at Gibbs, not Will. "I don’t want him back on my ship."

"Understood, Jack."

Jack swept out of the room, pistol draped over his neck although it must have burned his neck from the recently fired metal.

Gibbs sighed. "Come along, lad," he said.

They commandeered one of the boats from the merchant ship as it burned down around them. Gibbs carried with him a sack, and took out two leather armlets. He laced them up Will’s wrists, and Will felt too deflated to argue. "Where did these come from?" he asked.

"Jack had them made. The day you came to the ship."

Will nodded, emptiness inside expanding. Gibbs tossed the bag down at his feet, and the heavy coins chinked against themselves.

"It’s a dangerous thing to be needed by Jack, lad. Be off with you, now."

The boat lowered itself down in heaving sighs.

End

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel: [Any Port](http://archiveofourown.org/works/264261).


End file.
